


Closure of a kind

by Okibe Yemoun (okibe_yemoun)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, F/M, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okibe_yemoun/pseuds/Okibe%20Yemoun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Watsons and their baby daughter are staying with Sherlock and Janine in her cottage in Sussex. Mary sends John home early from a day-trip to Brighton to find Janine seducing Sherlock. Intrigued when he hears his own name mentioned, John can't help taking a look at what they are doing and finds that he enjoys what he sees...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [following prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=130094086#t130094086) on the LiveJournal Sherlock kink meme:
>
>> Sherlock and Janine having sex, with John watching. And liking it, in spite of himself. Would prefer John watching openly (like sitting on the same bed or on a chair in the same room), though if you'd rather have him peeking in through the bedroom or bathroom door or something like that, that'd be okay too - as long as he gets aroused by what he's seeing! 
>
>> Bonus points if there is John/Sherlock afterwards.

John let himself into the bungalow. He had planned to spend the day in Brighton with Mary and baby Anna, but they had seen an ad for an NCT mother and baby group in the early afternoon; twenty minutes in, Mary was best friends with half the other women and John was sitting staring into space as the women exchanged gory birth stories. Mary had soon told him to drive back to the cottage and that she would call when she wanted him to come back to get her. John thought he might get a chance to watch the football scores come in, since Janine had Sky Sports, and jumped at the opportunity to leave.

He was surprised to hear loud classical music blaring from the living room as he came in. Truth be told, John had been so preoccupied with the expeditionary preparations necessary for any trip involving the baby that he hadn’t paid any attention to what Janine and Sherlock said they had planned to do for the day. But as he looked into the living room, he got his answer; they were dancing.

Hidden by the doorway into the hall, John stood and watched them. Sherlock looked happy, one hand on Janine’s waist, leading her through the dance. John remembered dancing with Sherlock himself, before the wedding. It had been a surreal experience, particularly since Sherlock was being the “lady” despite being taller than John and considerably better at ballroom dancing. Janine, on the other hand, was a perfect partner for Sherlock; she was taller than John, and he had to admit she was definitely a better dancer.

It was nice to see Sherlock looking happy. John knew he wasn’t the most observant person—understatement of the century, he thought a little bitterly—but even he had noticed that Sherlock had been more subdued than usual for the last few months. They hadn’t been on any new cases together since, well, since before the wedding, actually. Not unless you counted the time Mary shot Sherlock and the time Sherlock shot Magnussen, and really, John didn’t count either of those as “cases” in the sense of adventures which turned out well and ended with Sherlock being awesome. Mary seemed worried about Sherlock, and that was why they had bundled the baby and all her paraphernalia into the car two days ago, and taken up Janine’s invitation for a “house party”.

Mary and Janine had remained good friends. John wasn’t certain whether Janine knew Mary was the one who had clobbered her over the head the night Sherlock was shot, but neither woman ever mentioned it, so either she didn’t know or she shared John’s own apparently boundless capacity for forgiveness. Janine certainly appeared to have forgiven Sherlock for stringing her along; John knew from Mary that they weren’t lovers, but Sherlock occasionally mentioned things that Janine had said which suggested they met or at least corresponded quite frequently. John wondered if Janine had to flirt _at_ Sherlock the way Irene had done when she was alive, and whether she was making better progress.

The piece of music they were dancing to finished and a different tune began. Sherlock and Janine stopped dancing but remained as they were, her hand on his shoulder and his on her waist. John thought he should perhaps clear his throat and make his presence known, but just as he was preparing to do that, Janine ran her hand down the front of Sherlock’s white shirt and reached in between them. 

John blinked. Janine was _groping_ Sherlock’s crotch. 

Okay, maybe not the moment to be bouncing in to say hello.

“The offer’s still on if you want to have sex,” said Janine, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “It would do you good, you know. Sex is a great way to relax.”

“Not my thing. I told you,” said Sherlock, though he closed his eyes and swallowed as she continued to stroke him.

“Why, because I don’t have a prick? I could always get a strap-on.”

Janine’s free hand curled into Sherlock’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss. John saw her tongue lap at Sherlock’s lips for a moment, then Sherlock opened his mouth and kissed Janine back, their tongues visible as they entwined. Janine’s hand was still moving between them, and Sherlock’s hips shifted lightly with her strokes. 

Jesus. John’s trousers were suddenly much too tight.

Sherlock looked as if his trousers were also two sizes too small when Janine stopped kissing him. He was breathless and looked uncharacteristically out of his depth, blinking rapidly as he struggled to process what was happening.

“‘Not my thing,’ he says,” said Janine with a grin, still rubbing him. “Sherl, your body is telling me a different story. You need to get off.”

“That might not be possible,” said Sherlock breathlessly. “I find it hard to focus on sexual activities for any length of time, even on my own. Though I have conducted some experiments and made some progress in recent months, there is a distinct possibility that I will lose interest in mid-action as it were. The whole experience could be a bit of a disappointment for you.”

“Eh, I reckon your tongue and fingers will still work.” Janine hooked her fingers into the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers. When she stood back, John got an excellent view of the bulge in Sherlock’s crotch. It made John’s own erection twinge in sympathy. “Come on, the Watsons won’t be back for hours, and you can’t pine for John forever.”

Pine for… wait, what? John wondered if he had heard that correctly.

“Oh, if you insist,” said Sherlock with resignation. He sighed, but then his lips twisted into a smirk. “Actually, I _have_ been thinking it might be good to have sex before I’m forty.”

“Well, what do you know, I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing!”

The living room at the front of the bungalow had two doorways, one by the main entrance, where John was standing, and another at the back, leading into the corridor that connected all the rooms. Fortunately, Janine was leading Sherlock to the master bedroom at the back of the house and they didn’t notice John by the other door. 

Heaving a sigh of relief, John walked over to where the entrance hall joined the corridor, intending to go to the room he was sharing with his little family at the back of the house. But when he looked down the corridor, John realised to his horror that Janine and Sherlock had left the bedroom door wide open.

John was now faced with a dilemma. The bungalow was, like most bungalows, arranged entirely on one floor, with the guest bedrooms further down the corridor, so he couldn’t go into his own room to watch the football on his tablet without passing the open door. He also couldn’t watch the football in the living room without turning the classical music off so he could hear the commentary. Either option would mean making his presence known now, which would mean interrupting them having sex, and apparently Sherlock’s first time, no less. That sounded like a recipe for acute embarrassment, and like any self-respecting Brit, John was prepared to do anything if it would save him from embarrassment.

Also, though he’d have denied it if anyone asked, he was incredibly turned on and was kind of hoping he might catch some more of their activities. He berated himself for this dirty impulse. John did not see himself as the kind of guy who would turn voyeur and spy on his friends. On the other hand, they had left the door open and from the occasional word he now caught over the music, they seemed to be talking about... him!

John sidled a bit closer to the open door to listen. From this angle, he could just see the corner of the bed; another metre, and he would probably see them both clearly, but then he would be visible to them too. He stayed where he was, observing their shadows on the bedroom wall.

“I don’t know what you both see in John,” Janine was saying. “I know Mary says he’s amazing in bed, but she married him, so she would say that.”

John stood in the corridor and grinned with pride. Ex-CIA assassin or not, he did love Mary, and that detail swelled his heart with tenderness. The corner of the bed moved; John could just make out Janine’s shadow on the wall opposite as she pulled a garment off over her head.

“Actually, she’s correct, John is amazing in bed,” said Sherlock. He suddenly appeared in John’s line of sight, sitting on the corner of the bed to remove his shoes. John shrank back in the unlit corridor, but Sherlock didn’t see him.

“Oh, I thought you two never—”

“No, we didn’t, obviously. John isn’t gay.” There was an edge to Sherlock’s voice when he said that which surprised John. “But he had some very vocal girlfriends, and, as you pointed out when you stayed there, there’s a glass door between my bedroom and the bathroom. Living with him was actually an ideal opportunity to further my research into the correlation or lack thereof between genital characteristics and the size of various other appendages. You will note that John has a very large nose, for instance. You would be amazed how often a man’s sexual prowess has a bearing on a criminal case. Size may not matter to a woman, but a perceived lack of it does indeed have an undue effect on the male psyche. The ability to gage the size of a man’s genitalia is actually an essential skill for a detective.”

“For a _gay_ detective, anyway,” said Janine with a laugh. “Oh lord, now I’m imagining you checking out all the guys you investigate. I had no idea you were such a perv, Sherlock Holmes. The stories I could have made up for the tabloids! Except of course, I’d have changed it so you weren’t gay.”

“‘Gay’.” Though he couldn’t see Sherlock’s face, John could practically hear the eye roll. “Another meaningless label. Like ‘autistic’ or ‘freak’.”

John was only half-listening. He was still wrapping his head around the revelation that Sherlock had apparently been checking him out when they lived together. He would deal with the mental image of Sherlock checking out other men some other time.

“In any case, the term gay in my case is incorrect,” continued Sherlock. “I am obviously not insensitive to women’s charms. But my work is the only thing that matters to me. I’m not very interested in either men or women.”

“Oh. Just John, then.”

“Hmm.”

Sherlock’s noncommittal grunt made John’s heart sink. Mary and John had often speculated about Sherlock’s sexuality and whether he would ever form a romantic relationship with someone. John had become convinced that Sherlock was simply asexual. But apparently, no, he got erections when he danced with girls and checked out his flatmate’s tackle. He didn’t want to think about what the grunt meant.

“You poor sausage, you’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?” said Janine tenderly, stroking Sherlock’s face. John could just see her hands through the door.

“No, not really,” said Sherlock flippantly. “Well, I killed for him, I suppose. But I’m not entirely sure that qualifies as a romantic gesture.”

 _Yeah, and I killed for you, too, you twat,_ thought John, though it occurred to him now that he’d never even discussed Magnussen’s murder with Sherlock. He had just assumed it was swept under the carpet now, just like the cabbie’s murder five years ago.

John couldn’t see Janine’s face, but her tone was serious when she said, “Yeah, don’t beat yourself up about that. The things that gobshite Magnussen did to me... Believe me, you couldn’t have picked a more deserving victim for your romantic gesture.”

“You have a very odd notion of romance.”

“Sure I do. Look who I’m dating.”

There was a beat, and John assumed that the end of their attempt at having sex. His own arousal had certainly faded at the mention of Magnussen. But then Janine’s hand reappeared in his narrow line of sight, her long fingers cupping Sherlock’s crotch again. John’s erection returned immediately, as if Janine were fondling him instead of Sherlock. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said you might lose interest in mid action, were you?” said Janine. She sat beside Sherlock, one knee up on the bed to face him so that she could unfasten his shirt. “But I’m not having it, mister. It’s time you got a damn good shag and you’re getting it right now.”

John could just make out Sherlock’s half smile in profile before Janine cupped his face to kiss him again. They leaned back a little and their heads disappeared behind the doorjamb, so that John could only see Sherlock’s legs and body, and a glimpse of Janine’s bare thighs behind him. Janine removed Sherlock’s shirt and then undid his flies, slipping her hand inside.

“Let’s see if we can get you going again without another go at the Blue Danube, hmm?”

They were certainly getting John going again. He adjusted himself through his trousers and moved just a little bit closer, so that he could make out their faces. He hoped the darkness in the corridor would conceal him. They were locked in an open-mouthed kiss again; it reminded John of the time he’d seen them kiss at 221B the day Sherlock got shot. He’d been embarrassed and aroused by the sight at the time. Now he was mainly aroused.

“You’ve never done this before, right?” said Janine. Sherlock was panting, but he shook his head. “Okay. So normally, we’d use a condom, but you know that blood test Mary made you take a few weeks ago? Well, she was checking you out for STDs and you’re clean. Also, I have a coil that’s been checked up recently and has never let me down, so you’re getting the full experience today. Aren’t you a lucky boy?”

“You planned this with Mary,” said Sherlock. He sounded impressed, and John was too. The thought of the two women teaming up to arrange Sherlock’s seduction was kind of hot.

Janine straddled Sherlock’s lap and kissed him again. She was naked except for her flowery knickers, and her large breasts rubbed against Sherlock’s bare chest. Sherlock wrapped one arm around her and tentatively fondled one of them with his free hand. John inhaled sharply and had to fight the impulse to touch himself.

“Sherl, baby, I’ve wanted to shag you ever since we met at the wedding,” said Janine in a low voice. “Mary and I have been planning this for ages. You are in for such a treat!”

Sherlock looked intrigued. “You know I prefer men. How do you know I’ll like it?”

“Well, I don’t. But I bet you’ll love this at any rate.” 

She flashed a knowing smile at him and sank to her knees. Oh god. John couldn’t resist taking another step closer to get a better look. From his new position, he had a clear view of Sherlock’s prick when Janine pulled it out of his trousers. He was only semi-erect, the pink glans barely visible in the sallow folds of his prepuce. Janine took him firmly in hand and dipped her tongue into the wrinkled circle of skin. The effect was almost immediate. Sherlock groaned and his erection grew, protruding obscenely from his black trousers before it disappeared into Janine’s mouth. John had to bite his lip to stop from moaning too.

Janine looked up at Sherlock as she sucked him, and he smiled at her with a tenderness which surprised John. Then Sherlock closed his eyes, clearly overcome by the sensations. John usually felt that people looked rather silly when they were having sex, even in porn movies, but he didn’t think that when he looked at Sherlock. 

John trailed his eyes down from Sherlock’s face, admiring his muscular body and strong arms with envy. John was sure Sherlock had been much thinner back in the days when they lived together; so had John, of course. But where John was succumbing to middle-aged spread, Sherlock seemed to have beefed up. He had lost the ethereal quality he had had when they first met, that youthful look that made him seem about twelve years old, but the change made him appear more human. More grown up. Trust Sherlock to turn approaching middle age to his advantage.

John returned his attention to the main event. Janine was still at work on Sherlock’s erection. He was now fully aroused and probably close to orgasm, his foreskin curled away from the obscenely flushed tip when she pulled back to lick it, his hips bucking lightly with the movement of her hand. John watched in fascination as Janine sucked one of her own fingers and slid her hand beneath Sherlock’s tight scrotum, pushing her finger into his trousers and down between his legs. John had to hold himself then, because Mary had started fingering him sometimes when she gave him a blow job and he knew exactly how good it felt.

He moved even closer to see better, but then froze in horror. Janine suddenly looked up and saw him.

They stared at each other a moment, Janine still with Sherlock’s erection in her mouth and John with his hand on his crotch. As embarrassing situations went, this definitely took the biscuit.

Janine winked at him and pulled back from Sherlock, still fingering him as she rose up to kiss his stomach. Sherlock actually whimpered at the loss of stimulation and the noise seemed to go straight to John’s groin. Janine giggled and stood up to take off her knickers, exposing her round bottom and a patch of thick dark hair.

John quickly moved away and leaned against the wall by the door, his mind in turmoil. Bugger. Janine had seen him watching her. She’d seen him _touching_ himself while he watched her blow Sherlock. Bloody hell, this was going to make the rest of their stay awkward.

“I was enjoying that!” said Sherlock petulantly.

“You’re after getting too close,” said Janine with a laugh. “Don’t want you firing off before the main event. Now let’s get these clothes off you. Then lie on your front and I’ll give you a backrub.”

Sherlock grumbled, but presumably did as he was told. John glanced back at the door just as Sherlock’s trousers and a pair of Y-fronts were tossed onto the floor. John looked away again. There was a pause and some creaking from Janine’s king size bed as the pair repositioned themselves. 

“You’re so tense, Sherlock.”

“Can’t imagine why,” whined Sherlock. “I was quite happy with what you were doing earlier.”

“Sure you were,” chuckled Janine, “but I promised you the full deal, remember? Now, try to relax.”

John couldn’t help but picture them both lying naked on the bed, Janine’s thick thighs straddling Sherlock’s hips, her warm, wet pussy pressed against his naked buttocks. John felt a momentary pang of guilt as his arousal returned. He should go into his room, or get back into the car and pick up Mary in Brighton. He shouldn’t be standing here straining to hear them over the classical music still playing from the living room.

“Now, see how much more relaxed you are?” said Janine after a while. “Turn over. Time to find out what it’s all about.”

“Oh…” 

The bed started to creak in a slow rhythm and it was a few seconds before Sherlock spoke again.

“Yes… That—that _is_ rather pleasant.”

So now, John was picturing Janine riding Sherlock’s prick and, Christ, that was a hot mental image that made him feel guilty all over again. He was strongly tempted to go in and, if not join them, at least have a jolly good look at what they were doing, possibly with a wank on top. He didn’t think that was something a married man should be considering. True, Mary had always had a relaxed attitude to the idea of him fancying other women; she had even hinted a few times that he could sleep with someone else as long as he didn’t do it behind her back, though John was too loyal and in love with her to take her up on it. But Mary wasn’t here to give him permission and it seemed disloyal to even consider having sex with their friends when she was out with the baby.

No, John told himself, this wasn’t right. He should go into his room and watch the football as he’d originally planned. He was still willing his erection away so he could walk properly when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Thankful for the distraction, John pulled it out and saw a text message from Mary.

_You can join in if you want to. They won’t mind. I’ll text when we need picking up. Have fun! xx_

John stared at the message. It had to be about something else. She couldn’t possibly be referring to Sherlock and Janine. He had left her in Brighton. How could she possibly know what was going on at the cottage?

Sherlock groaned and Janine giggled before she too let out a sensual moan. They were definitely having penetrative sex now. John’s arousal pulsed through his body with full force.

On the other hand, maybe Mary _was_ referring to the sex. Janine certainly didn’t seem bothered by John’s presence; she had undressed knowing he was watching her, and she was going ahead with her seduction of Sherlock, even though she knew he could hear them. Maybe she did want him to join in. As for Sherlock... well, John was sure they didn’t have to touch each other if they didn’t want to. He deliberately didn’t think what would happen if Sherlock did want to touch him.

“This isn’t working,” said Sherlock suddenly. “You’re not moving fast enough.”

“Okay, let’s try the missionary— oh!”

From the sound of things, Sherlock had pushed Janine off and probably flipped her onto her back. She squealed with delight and the bed creaked again.

“Oh, Sherl, you _stud_!”

John couldn’t imagine anyone less likely to qualify as a “stud” than Sherlock. He really had to see this to believe it. Short of calling Mary to confirm her permission and risk missing all the action, he would have to assume the text meant exactly what it seemed to say. 

As to Sherlock and Janine, there was only one way to find out if he would be welcome. Steeling himself for embarrassment and rejection, John took a deep breath and walked into the bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Janine was indeed flat on her back while Sherlock—Sherlock bloody Holmes—pretty much fucked her into the mattress. After years of watching Sherlock treat his body as “transport”, it was quite jarring to see him giving into such a basic instinct with such gusto.

Janine grinned at John and have him a happy thumbs up when she noticed him standing at the foot of the bed. Sherlock, on the other hand, had his back to John, and didn’t notice him. Ironic for the man who normally noticed everything.

John wondered what the protocol was in this situation. Should he make his presence known? But how—Cough? Place himself in Sherlock’s line of sight? Climb onto the bed with them? He watched Sherlock’s milky white arse clenching and relaxing between Janine’s light coffee thighs while he tried to think. Sherlock’s feet were just off the edge of the bed, his long toes curled.

Actually, John decided he didn’t need to join in; this was quite exciting as it was. He felt like the naughty neighbour in a sex comedy. He stayed where he was, standing by the door, and palmed his own erection through his trousers. 

After a short while, Sherlock slowed down and lifted himself up on his elbows. The muscles in his back rippled and John noticed a few scars that he was pretty certain had not been there the last time he saw Sherlock naked a lifetime ago at Buckingham Palace.

“Want a change of position?” suggested Janine breathlessly.

“No, just... Need a pause.”

Janine laughed and Sherlock chuckled, a deep sound John wasn’t used to hearing. Sherlock looked down at Janine for a few seconds, and John felt like an intruder on their special moment together. Janine had wanted Sherlock ever since the wedding; John could believe she’d been planning this moment for a while, and her fantasy probably hadn’t involved having John there. As he was still out of Sherlock’s line of sight, he took a step back, intending to leave.

“John, you do realise you always wear the same cologne,” said Sherlock, still lying on top of Janine, most probably with his erect penis inside her since their hips hadn’t moved. “Well, I say cologne. Actually, your body odour is quite distinctive.”

Sherlock turned and gave John the kind of smug look which would have been quite impressive had he not been buck naked on top of a girl who looked as if she was about to burst out laughing. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, and John wondered if that was a hint of fear in his voice.

“I’ve literally just walked in,” said John. That was the kind of white lie he was good at. He wasn’t keen to discuss what he had overheard before. In any case, he found he was unreasonably annoyed that the moment appeared to be spoiled. “Why, am I putting you off?”

“Not exactly,” said Sherlock, exchanging an amused look with Janine. He pointed at the chair beside the bed. “If you’re going to stay, sit there and don’t breathe too loudly.”

John glared at him, but of course, he did as he was told. Sherlock was still looking at Janine, a bit as if he’d never really seen her before. She gave him a tender smile. They kissed again and Sherlock pushed himself up higher on his arms—he really had grown more muscular in his absence—and started moving. The change in their positions meant that John, seated level with their shoulders, could now see between them, down to the point where their patches of dark pubic hair were joined by the shaft of pale flesh sliding back and forth.

Okay. So now they were having sex knowing that John was there, watching them, within arm’s reach, where he could see everything and smell the scent of their combined arousal. John unfastened his trousers and slid his hand inside his pants, wrapping his fingers around his heavy erection. Christ, it had been years since he’d been this turned on. He ignored Sherlock’s earlier instructions and started breathing heavily.

Sherlock didn’t object to John’s heavy breathing; in fact, he closed his eyes and accelerated his movements, still holding himself up so John could get a good view. Janine reached above her head to brace herself against the headboard and started grunting with the force of each thrust of his hips; the sound was more sensual than any number of faked porno soundtracks. Her large breasts rippled back and forth with each rough movement, and John’s mouth watered at the thought of leaning forward to suck one into his mouth.

After a minute or so, Sherlock abandoned his momentary exhibitionism in favour of some old-fashioned missionary shagging; he half opened his eyes and lay fully on top of Janine, his sweat-slicked chest pressed to her breasts. He closed his eyes again as he built up the same frantic rhythm, his hips thrusting between Janine’s spread thighs. John could tell Sherlock was getting close and he leaned forward almost involuntarily to get a better look.

Sherlock suddenly held out his hand, reaching blindly in John’s direction. A little puzzled, John took it, slipping his free hand between Sherlock’s warm, moist fingers. Sherlock’s grip became almost painful and he started to pant, vocalising a series of low grunts as he got closer to his orgasm. John felt light-headed watching Sherlock like this: Sherlock Holmes, the ultimate brainbox, the man who didn’t do sex and relationships and anything remotely human, rutting like a horny teenager getting his leg over for the first time while he held John’s hand. John’s other hand rubbed his erection harder, subconsciously matching Sherlock’s rhythm. Finally, Sherlock buried his face in Janine’s hair, his hips stilling as he came inside her with a loud groan.

Excited by the sight, John had a sudden fantasy of pulling Sherlock’s hand, now only loosely holding his, into his crotch. John was so close he thought just getting Sherlock to hold his prick would be enough to get off. Ashamed of this odd impulse, John let go of Sherlock and pulled his own hand out of his pants, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to regain his composure.

When he opened his eyes, Sherlock was watching him, the expression on his flushed face unreadable. At least, it was unreadable to John; maybe Mary would have interpreted Sherlock’s feelings. They looked at each other a moment before Sherlock broke eye contact and looked down at Janine.

She looked pleased; she let go of the headboard and wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s sweaty neck to pull him into a deep kiss. When they were done, she stroked a strand of dark hair off his face and tried to tuck it behind his ear; it just sprang back to stick to his forehead.

“See, you were after keeping your brainy brain on the task after all,” she said teasingly.

“Yes, I was ‘after doing’ that,” said Sherlock, the Irish turn of phrase decidedly alien in his posh English accent. John wasn’t sure if he imagined it but he thought Sherlock glanced at him as he said that. Sherlock took a deep breath and raised himself on his elbows, taking his weight off Janine’s upper body though his hips remained between her thighs. “You didn’t orgasm.”

“Sherl, it was amazing,” she said. “But it’s more of a starter from my point of view, if you like.” She flashed him a bright smile. “I’m ready for my main course, though, if you can find your way down there.”

“I’m not sure that would work. My knowledge is entirely theoretical,” said Sherlock seriously. “Fortunately, we have an expert here who can show me what to do.” He turned his head to look at John and narrowed his eyes. “Twenty-six girlfriends; I’m sure he’s learned _something_ about female sexual anatomy. I believe he is also very interested in participating.”

Janine observed John’s crotch. His trousers were completely unfastened, and despite his determination to calm down, he was still half hard, his erection plainly visible through the stretched cotton of his underpants.

“That’s amazing, Sherlock Holmes!” said Janine cheekily. “How on Earth did you deduce he was interested?”

“Don’t do that when we’re in bed,” said Sherlock flatly, rolling his eyes.

“Aww, does that mean you won’t wear the hat?” Janine laughed when Sherlock pretended to glower at her. She pushed him off. “Okay. Shove off, newbie, and let’s let the _expert_ have a go.”

Sherlock rolled onto his back on the other side of her while Janine beckoned for John to join them on the bed. After a split second’s hesitation—he really had never done anything like this before—John stood up and stripped off completely. He tried to ignore the look of amusement on Janine’s face as his erection bounced free of his underwear; as a heterosexual man, he thought few things were more hilarious than a man with an erection walking about, and Janine clearly shared his view. He didn’t look to see Sherlock’s reaction. He crawled onto the bed and Janine scooted over to let him on.

“I take it you got Mary’s text, John,” said Janine as she repositioned herself.

“Oh, so _that’s_ what you were doing,” said Sherlock. He pulled the pillow from Janine’s side of the bed and put it on top of the one on his side. “You were texting Mary. I wondered why you were only using one hand for the backrub.”

Janine jerked her thumb at Sherlock and grinned at John. “Brilliant detective, him.”

“I don’t think very well with an erection,” said Sherlock with a pout. “That’s why I’ve always avoided sex.” He lay back on the stacked pillows and gently pulled at Janine’s arm. “Here, lie against me.”

It took a couple more minutes of shuffling around until everyone was comfortable. Sherlock was propped up on the pillows with Janine reclining against his chest, while John kneeled on the opposite corner of the bed with her legs spread in front of him. Janine and Sherlock kissed awkwardly and John watched them, enjoying the rush of blood that filled up the spongy tissue in his shaft. On the other hand, it reminded him of the time Sherlock and Irene had been flirting and John felt like a third wheel. And indeed the time he’d seen Sherlock and Janine together the day Sherlock got shot. He wondered if he should just leave them to it; though he was trying not to stare, he could see Janine was still very aroused and probably wouldn’t need much stimulation. On the other hand, the sight of her spread thighs, their fine dark hairs growing thicker as they approached her pubic area, was making his mouth water again.

“Oh, do get on with it, John,” snapped Sherlock suddenly, pulling John out of his reverie. “Janine isn’t doing this just for me, you know. She wants sexual gratification.”

John looked at Janine for confirmation. She was grinning at him, her lips still wet from the kiss with Sherlock.

“Well.” John cleared his throat. “Right. Let’s see what I can do for you.”

Wishing he didn’t sound quite so much like Dr Watson, G.P., John crawled forward. He kissed Janine’s mouth first, more out of habit than anything else. It was a dirty, erotic kiss that was merely the prelude to sex, not the tender expression of love that it would have been had he been with Mary. The thought occurred to him that Sherlock had been snogging her only a moment earlier, his tongue inside her mouth, and he was surprised by the perverse thrill he felt.

John broke away from Janine’s mouth and moved down to kiss one breast. Her dark nipple was large and tasted faintly of sour sweat when he licked it, a contrast with Mary’s small pink nipples that flooded his mouth with sweet, sticky milk these days. Janine seemed to enjoy the sensation. She lay back against Sherlock and moaned softly, holding John’s head in place with her hand. John closed his eyes and enjoyed the softness of her flesh in his mouth; as far as he was concerned, one of the main perks of having a girlfriend was getting breasts to play with. He moved over to the other one, fondling the first and rolling her wet nipple between his fingers. She liked that a lot and illustrated the point with some lovely feminine sounds. After a while, though, John remembered he was doing this as a demonstration for Sherlock and shifted back to kneel between her legs.

He had done this thousands of times in his life, from Laura Michelson in sixth form to Mary only last week, but never in front of another bloke. Never another _naked_ bloke. Never in front of Sherlock, the man who missed nothing—except possibly voyeurs when he was shagging his girlfriend. John felt a small twinge of performance anxiety mixed with intense excitement.

Janine smiled expectantly when John lowered his face to her pubic area. It had been a while since he had had sex with an Asian girl—that aspect of her mixed heritage was sufficiently evident for Janine to qualify as such—and he took a moment to admire the brown skin of her nether lips and the pink flesh within. The dark hair lining her vulva was glistening with moisture from her own arousal and a single thin, white trace of her intercourse with Sherlock. John hesitated, momentarily stalled by the rules dinned into him at home and at school and in the army; the rules that said you couldn’t hug a bloke or admit you liked him, let alone go anywhere near his nether regions or bodily fluids, without being branded gay. The same archaic rules that said being branded gay when you weren’t was practically the worst thing that could happen to you. 

By now, of course, John had both hugged Sherlock and told him he loved him, and it was even slightly possible he might have accidentally fondled him a bit when they were both smashed on the stag night, so he wasn’t as hung up on not doing “gay” stuff as he would once have been. Also, Janine was very obviously a woman seen from this angle, so the fact that Sherlock’s prick had just been in there a few minutes earlier was irrelevant. This wasn’t inherently gay. And anyway, even if it was, there was nothing wrong with being gay, or being this close to Sherlock or his prick.

John tried to return his attention to the task at hand. He could pretty much perform cunnilingus on automatic given how many times he’d done it. He kept to the apex of Janine’s vulva, away from her vagina, but he was still acutely aware of Sherlock’s masculine scent between her legs. The thought of Sherlock’s erection being in there was confusingly arousing. As John traced Janine’s clitoris with his tongue, he glanced at that part of Sherlock’s anatomy, lying limp on a background of curly brownish hair level with his eyes. One of John’s ex-girlfriends had teasingly compared his flaccid penis to a Chantenay carrot, and he had to admit that from this angle, Sherlock too looked a lot less impressive than he had when Janine was giving him a blow job. The memory sent a sharp jolt of arousal down to John’s own groin. 

Looking up, John realised that Janine and Sherlock were kissing again, and Sherlock was awkwardly fondling one of her breasts. John wondered why Sherlock had never had sex before; he clearly had a libido and was attracted to people. It was hard to imagine that he had never wanted to do this with anyone. After a moment, Sherlock stopped and shifted down the bed to suck Janine’s breast, curling awkwardly around her body. The serious look of concentration on his face when he took her nipple in his mouth amused John, though he hoped for Janine’s sake that this wasn’t all just another experiment. 

Sherlock suckled at Janine’s breast for a moment, his eyes closed. Then he opened his eyes again, looked directly at John and smiled.

Now this did feel weird. John wondered how Sherlock felt, watching him going down on Janine. It was hard to tell; John had never been good at reading Sherlock’s feelings. A case in point: he had thought Sherlock was taking the whole business with Magnussen rather well, until Mary mentioned that Sherlock looked depressed. In fact, that was why she had insisted that they come here—to cheer Sherlock up. John wondered if this was quite the kind of cheering up she had had in mind at the time. Either way, it seemed to be working; Sherlock looked a lot more happy right now than John remembered him being for some months. John felt a renewed surge of affection for his thoughtful wife.

Sherlock let go of Janine’s breast, prompting a small moan of protest. He lifted himself up on his hands and knees, and pulled the pillows down so that Janine could recline on them while remaining diagonal across the bed. John couldn’t help but glance at the slack genitals dangling between Sherlock’s legs as he turned to face John on all fours. John wondered briefly what Sherlock’s refractory period was, but then tensed when Sherlock crawled closer.

“John, I can’t see what you’re doing,” said Sherlock reproachfully.

His imperious tone was so incongruous that John almost laughed. Instead, he raised his head from Janine’s crotch and pretended to be annoyed. “You’ll have to watch a porn film if you really want a better view.”

“Oh, I’ve seen plenty of porn films,” said Sherlock airily. “But they’re not like this. This is… You can’t smell porn.” John caught Janine’s eye; she grinned at him as Sherlock continued. “Besides I’ll learn a lot more from watching you bring Janine to orgasm.”

“No pressure, eh, John?” said Janine with amusement, shifting her hips to rub herself on John’s chin. “Better get back to it before I cool off.”

John cleared his throat and did as he was told, now acutely aware of Sherlock’s proximity and intense observation. This _was_ turning into one of Sherlock’s experiments, he realised. At least they were doing something John was normally good at. He closed his eyes and concentrated again.

He practically jumped when he felt Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him back. He opened his eyes and sat up, watching in fascination as Sherlock leaned down to kiss Janine’s vulva as John had done, albeit from the side, since John was still sitting in between Janine’s legs. Sherlock had apparently deduced something about Janine’s readiness which had escaped John, or maybe she was just that much more into Sherlock, because it only took a couple of seconds before she let out a sharp cry and buried her fingers in Sherlock’s hair, her hips bucking involuntarily.

Seated between her thighs with Sherlock’s face only inches from his erection, John stroked himself, overcome by just how _hot_ this all was. He didn’t even care that Sherlock and Janine could see him.

Janine held out her arms and Sherlock moved over to kiss her mouth tenderly. 

“That was nice,” she said softly.

Sherlock pressed his lips to her nose. “Hmm, I’ll have to practice. There’s always room for improvement.”

“Oh, definitely.” Janine looked at John, who was still sitting between her legs. “But now, I think it might be John’s turn. He’s been very patient.”

“Ah yes.”

Lying beside Janine, propped up on one elbow, Sherlock looked John over slowly. John bristled instinctively at the inspection, but he told himself he had nothing to be ashamed of. Okay, so there was a tiny bit of flab around his waist and despite his army career, he’d never been particularly muscular. The tan he’d acquired on his last holiday had long since faded, leaving him “mushroom white” as his mum would have said. But he knew his prick was looking as impressive as it could, jutting out between his slightly parted thighs as he knelt on the bed. Sherlock certainly didn’t seem to find his body amusing; his expression was serious and his eyes were surprisingly dark.

Janine beckoned to John with an inviting smile, so he shifted forwards, pulling her hips up onto his knees so he could slide easily inside her without lying on top of her. To John’s surprise, Sherlock moved closer and bent down to lick Janine’s clitoris again, his dark curls brushing against John’s bare stomach. 

John couldn’t see exactly what Sherlock was doing, but from this angle, it looked exactly as if Sherlock was giving him a blow job. John hesitated to follow that thought for a moment—it still felt a bit wrong to fantasize about his best friend—but when he started to thrust slowly, Sherlock’s head moved up and down in time with the movements of John’s hips and the illusion was just too complete to ignore. John placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, not quite holding him in place though he itched to grab a handful of dark hair, and gave free rein to his imagination. He pretended that the warm moist heat around his erection was Sherlock’s mouth and his orgasm immediately started to build up.


	3. Chapter 3

In retrospect, John thought he should probably have known what would happen next. But at the time, it caught him completely by surprise.

He hadn’t quite reached the point of no return when Sherlock suddenly straightened up, his familiar face looming into John’s line of sight and shattering the illusion of the blow job. John lost his rhythm and pulled away instinctively, slipping out of Janine in his surprise. Sherlock was frowning and John felt a pang of guilt. Maybe Sherlock had guessed that John had been fantasizing about him? Maybe he was angry about that?

John didn’t have time to ask himself any more questions, because the next thing Sherlock did was lunge at him. One moment, John was wondering if he had offended his best friend, and the next, a pair of strong hands were gripping his face and wide, slightly stubbly lips were pressed to his.

Caught off guard, John automatically opened his mouth to kiss Sherlock back. This prompted a gasp from Janine and a low groan from Sherlock, who tried to pull John closer even though one of Janine’s legs was still in the way. John’s erection rubbed against her thigh as Sherlock’s arms closed around him, pulling him close enough to feel Sherlock’s wiry chest hair against his bare skin. Sherlock slid his tongue a little too enthusiastically into John’s mouth, but when John pushed back with his own tongue, Sherlock seemed to melt—for want of a better expression—his strong arms relaxing their grip as he almost slumped against John. He stroked John’s back as their tongues continued their erotic dance, one hand sliding down to cup John’s arse.

Aroused as he was, the touch gave John a thrill, but it also brought him back to reality and the enormity of this step. This was _Sherlock_ he was kissing, a man he was going to have to face in the morning and whose friendship he didn’t want to lose. A friend he didn’t want to take advantage of.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, backing away from both Sherlock and Janine. “Sorry. I’m in love with Mary!”

Sherlock was panting, his lips still wet from the kiss, but he rolled his eyes. “After everything I’ve done to keep you together, I should bloody hope so!”

He grinned ruefully and John burst out laughing, relieved that, once again, Sherlock was prepared to laugh off a tense emotional situation. Janine pulled her legs up out of their way.

“John, Mary won’t mind you having a bit of fun, sure she won’t,” she said softly.

“Sorry, I just thought you should know that,” said John a little lamely. “About me and Mary. Just, you know, so you know.”

“I know that,” said Sherlock lightly. “We’re good.”

He leaned in for another kiss, and though John didn’t pull away, he also didn’t respond, still unsure that this was a good idea. Undeterred, Sherlock kissed his cheek and then his temple, and ran his hands over John’s chest and back. Looking over Sherlock’s shoulder, John saw Janine sitting up against the headboard, her legs folded up under her chin as she watched them with her lips parted; she smiled encouragingly when she caught John’s eye. 

John didn’t know what to do. Sherlock moved closer and trailed soft kisses down John’s body with an enthusiasm that suggested he might have wanted to do this for a while. And that in a nutshell was why this wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t think this was just a “bit of fun” from Sherlock’s point of view.

If Sherlock was in love with John, then sleeping with him might give him false hopes which would inevitably be dashed, and John would end up breaking his heart. Obviously, John didn’t want to break Sherlock’s heart. He had a vague feeling, now he actually thought about it, that he might have done that already by marrying Mary, and he definitely didn’t want to do it again.

He pushed Sherlock away gently.

“I, listen, Sherlock.” John cleared his throat. God, expressing emotions was hard. “I can’t, I mean, I can’t give you what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me, John,” said Sherlock, his tone matter-of-fact and his voice barely above a growl. “Think you can manage that?”

And there it was. The mental image that simple statement conjured up was so arousing it swept all John’s concerns aside.

“Oh god, yes,” said John before he could stop himself.

Sherlock smiled a little smugly and curled his fingers around John’s erection before bending over to kiss it and, oh _Christ_ , suck it into his mouth. John groaned, and this time, he did bury his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. This was incredible. Not so much the act itself, because Sherlock had clearly never done this before and was just holding the glans in his mouth while his hand stroked the shaft much too lightly to be effective. As blow jobs went, this was a bit rubbish.

But this was _Sherlock_. Mary had once described John's feelings for Sherlock as a “massive man crush”, and truth be told, there was nothing John wasn’t prepared to do for him. Including, apparently, fuck him on demand.

“Sherl, you’re gonna have to rub him harder than that,” said Janine. “Suck him at the same time and maybe lick him a bit. You know, all the stuff I was doing.”

Sherlock made an annoyed sound, but he followed her instructions. In fact, he followed them to the letter. John looked down at Sherlock’s curly hair bobbing up and down, mesmerized by the combination of the visual and the sensations.

“God, Sherlock,” he groaned as he realised he was going to come already. “I’m just...”

Sherlock stopped sucking but continued to masturbate him, watching him with interest. John felt the familiar build-up and closed his eyes. Bloody hell, this was going to be an intense one. It occurred to John that if Sherlock didn’t move, he was going to come on his face. He’d always been quite partial to “money shots” in porn and that thought pushed him right over the edge.

The orgasm was intense, sensation coursing through his body and pooling into an explosion of pleasure in his groin. It was also accompanied by a firm, almost painful pressure on his perineum, between his balls and his arse, and the vague awareness that he hadn’t actually ejaculated.

John opened his eyes. Sherlock was still on his hands and knees in front of him. He was holding John’s penis, now just licking it gently as the pleasure subsided, but his other hand was between John’s legs.

“What. The. Hell. Was. That?” asked John breathlessly.

“You had an orgasm,” said Sherlock, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes when he sat up.

“Yeah, not a normal one, though.”

“Oh, that.” Sherlock cupped John’s balls and massaged them absentmindedly. “It’s a tantric technique to delay ejaculation and encourage multiple orgasms. I wasn’t sure it would work from that angle.”

“You know tantric sex techniques?” asked John, before rolling his eyes. “Of course you do.”

"Yes. It's something I could practice on my own."

John stared into space a moment, contemplating the mental image of Sherlock pleasuring himself and experimenting with ejaculation suppression techniques.

“Ooh, you’ll have to teach me that one,” said Janine. “Sounds useful!”

John blinked. He had almost forgotten that Janine was still on the bed with them. Even though he’d been naked for the past half hour or so, and had indeed been inside her for a short while, John felt a bit embarrassed to think she had watched Sherlock bring him off like that.

“I thought you said you were going to fuck me,” said Sherlock sternly. He let go of John’s private parts. “Since we’re unlikely to do this again, we might as well get on with it.”

John cleared his throat. He remembered Sherlock’s white buttocks pumping up and down earlier and pictured himself sliding in between them. That was as gay as you could get, but John thought he was okay with that now. Mostly. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it with girlfriends in the past, or indeed his wife. Plus, _Sherlock_ and massive man crush.

“Right. Yeah. Should we, I mean, we need lubrication, right?” queried John. He glanced at Janine.

“Sorry, boys, I make my own,” she said with a laugh.

“I’ve never tried with vaginal fluids,” said Sherlock, his eyes lighting up. Janine and John exchanged a worried glance. Sherlock, meanwhile, had gone into mad scientist mode. “Since we’re not going to use a condom: massage oil, butter, or moisturizing creams would all be acceptable lubricants... But this should be interesting. I’ve never had an aroused woman at hand to provide lubrication for my experiments.”

“Yeah. You’ve got an increasingly _less_ aroused woman at hand right now,” said Janine, primly keeping her legs closed. “What exactly do you have in mind? You want John to swap between us or something?”

“No, he enjoyed that too much.” Despite her forbidding posture, he managed to get his hand in between her legs. “I’ll just take the lubrication and apply it manually.”

John thought that sounded hot, though he could tell Janine wasn’t so keen. However, Sherlock gave her the wide-eyed, wheedling look he used when he wanted a woman to do something for him, and after a moment’s hesitation, Janine sighed and opened her legs. John watched in fascination as two of Sherlock’s long pale fingers disappeared into her vagina, his hand moving in a circular motion to push them further in. He leaned over to brush his lips against Janine’s, a soft, sweet kiss that made John wonder once again if Sherlock liked Janine a lot more than he let on.

Sherlock trailed his lips tenderly over her cheek and down her neck, eventually reaching her breast and gently sucking on her dark nipple. Janine gave John a comical grin once Sherlock was busy at her breast. It took John a moment to realise what Janine clearly already knew; that Sherlock was just being tender in an effort to deliberately arouse her. It seemed to be working, though; as Sherlock's fingers slid back and forth into her, John could see they were becoming increasingly slick with her secretions.

Overcome by how exciting this all was, John kissed Sherlock’s shoulder, savouring the feel of soft warm skin against his lips. Sherlock’s hand stilled, his body tensing beneath John’s mouth as if he was afraid to move. John kissed the side of Sherlock’s neck, tracing his external jugular vein up to the lobe of his ear. His chest was pressed to Sherlock’s side now, his erection rubbing ineffectually against Sherlock’s hip and his arm lying across his broad back. Perhaps realising that John wasn’t going to disappear if he moved, Sherlock exhaled slowly and turned his head in John’s direction, his breath warm on his forehead. 

Sherlock’s hand started moving again and John watched with interest as he added another finger. For a moment, John thought Sherlock intended to push the rest of his hand into Janine’s vagina—something John had seen on the internet, but never in real life. Given his intent expression and the way he tilted his head to observe his own fingers stretching Janine’s now very well-lubricated opening, Sherlock did look as if he might be considering it. But after a short while, he pulled his hand away, and observed the shiny substance coating his fingers with the kind of interest he usually reserved for murder victims.

John sat back so that they were kneeling face to face, at an angle so their legs were intermeshed. He kissed the freckles on one of Sherlock’s sharp cheekbones while Sherlock lowered his hand and rubbed the mixture on John’s erection. John thought that was quite possibly one of the dirtiest—and hottest—things anyone had ever done to him.

He didn’t look down. He wasn’t usually interested in pricks, and he was afraid that the sight of two nobs in close proximity—even his and Sherlock’s—would turn him off. Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by the sight while he stroked John; he was aroused again, his face flushed and his lips parted, a sight John found delightfully erotic under these circumstances. John put his hand on the nape of Sherlock’s neck, running his fingers through the thick hair at the back of his head. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Janine move closer. She kissed Sherlock’s cheek and neck, caressing his chest and back until he was sufficiently distracted to turn and kiss her. John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s jaw, then moved his kisses to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, his face pressed against Janine’s and his tongue sliding against hers on Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock turned towards John as Janine backed away and John took over Sherlock’s mouth, giving him a dirty, deep kiss that made Sherlock moan.

To John’s surprise, Janine gave Sherlock one last peck on the cheek and got off the bed.

“I always knew you’d be a fecking lunatic in bed, Sherlock Holmes,” she said tenderly. “I’ll have to find out what other filthy tricks lurk in that large brain of yours.” She tucked Sherlock’s shirt between her legs. “But now, I need a shower. I’ll see what I have in the bathroom in case you need better lube. You boys have fun!”

Though he was disappointed that the threesome was apparently coming to an end, John raised his head in her direction and nodded to acknowledge her departure. Sherlock, meanwhile, was once again absorbed in looking down at John’s erection and didn’t seem to even notice that she was gone.

So now, it was just John and Sherlock, sitting naked on a bed. Now that his erection was thorough stimulated, and presumably lubricated, John wanted to enact his fantasy of having Sherlock’s white arse. But he reminded himself that this was Sherlock’s first time. 

John had never been anyone’s first before; tantric techniques notwithstanding, he wasn’t sure how much experience Sherlock actually had or what he might be expecting, and he thought it would probably be best to take this slow. Left to his own devices, in fact, John would probably not have suggested penetrative sex at all, but Sherlock seemed pretty adamant about that. So maybe they should start with some more kissing and cuddling, and then John might gently lie Sherlock on his back and part his legs so they could be face to face. After all, the first time should be about trust and intimacy and—

“Umph!” exhaled John as he fell onto his back, Sherlock’s large hand flat on his chest.

Sherlock lay on top of him and kissed him again with a passion, perhaps even a desperation, that few of John’s past partners had ever displayed. Well, none of his partners except Mary, actually; that was kind of why he’d decided to marry her.

By now, John didn’t care whether this was gay, liable to break Sherlock’s heart or indeed destroy their friendship beyond repair. He kissed Sherlock back, open-mouthed and rough. Admittedly, Sherlock’s position on top of him, his rigid erection leaving a damp trail on John’s thigh, did make John wonder for a moment whether he had misunderstood who was supposed to be on the receiving end of the fucking. But his mind was put at ease when Sherlock straightened up to straddle his hips.

As a doctor, John wasn’t entirely convinced that Sherlock would find this comfortable, especially given the lack of care with which he impaled himself on John’s cock. However, the thought only bothered him while Sherlock was positioning himself. When he sank down with a groan, John forgot his misgivings because wow, it felt good.

Sherlock sat still for a moment, his eyes closed, and John was grateful for the pause because, whatever Sherlock might know about tantric techniques, John thought he wasn’t going to last long if he didn’t get time to catch his breath. Sherlock’s small blue eyes fluttered open and he winced when he shifted his hips.

“Sherlock, you dickhead. You’re going to do yourself an injury,” said John, leaning up on his elbows. “We can stop if you’re not comfortable.”

“I’m fine, John,” said Sherlock in the tone usually reserved for the assurance that an experiment wouldn’t blow up the kitchen. “Obviously, I’d never experimented with vaginal secretions before, or indeed a live partner, but this isn’t uncomfortable. It’s… actually… Oh…”

His voice trailed off and he moved his hips more slowly, biting his lip. John automatically put his hands on Sherlock’s hips, trying to guide his movements, and it took him a few seconds to parse what Sherlock had said.

“Wait, what do you mean a live partner?”

Sherlock sighed impatiently. “I mean as opposed to an inanimate object, John. I haven’t been molesting the cadavers at St Bart’s.” He changed the angle slightly, laying his hands on John’s chest, and groaned. “Oh, this is much better. I should have realised my data was flawed. You’re so ...warm.”

“So, this is just an experiment, right?” said John, because actually, on this occasion, that made him feel better than the thought that Sherlock had been pining for him and maybe resorting to inanimate objects as a substitute.

“Hmm.”

The noncommittal hum didn’t do a great deal to reassure John, but Sherlock was moving faster now, and that felt really good. Sherlock was obviously enjoying it too; it was hard to ignore his erection brushing against John’s stomach on every move.

John did hesitate, because though he hated himself for it, it was hard to break the prejudices of a lifetime. But it was only for a second or so. This was Sherlock’s first time, he loved Sherlock as a friend, and he wanted it to be good. John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s prick and stroked in time with the movements of his hips. Sherlock closed his eyes and groaned.

However, when John heard the sound of the toilet flushing down the hall, he immediately let go of Sherlock’s erection. He stopped short of also throwing Sherlock off him, so he was still flat on his back with Sherlock impaled on his cock when Janine came back into the bedroom. John froze, horrified at the thought of her seeing the pair of them like that; they probably looked ridiculous. Fortunately, Janine just bit her lip and looked them over as if they were the hottest thing she’d ever seen, and that did make John feel a bit better about the situation.

She smiled at John when she noticed him looking at her. Though she was wearing a bathrobe, her hair was still dry; she had presumably been rummaging through her things instead of taking a shower. She showed John a small tub of Vaseline and a damp flannel which she dropped on the bed beside them. She mimed having a shower and gave John a thumbs up.

Sherlock still had his eyes closed and seemed oblivious to her presence, but John thought it might have been nice for her to join them again. He entertained a fleeting image of Janine sitting on his face and kissing Sherlock while he rode John. But she left before he could gesture at her to come closer. Well, maybe another time.


	4. Chapter 4

Still impaled on John’s erection, Sherlock didn’t open his eyes until Janine had left. Given Sherlock’s ability to ignore people and things that weren’t involved in his immediate preoccupations, John thought it was quite possible he never even noticed she had come in.

“John, this is tiring,” said Sherlock, as if the position they were in was entirely John’s fault. “I think you should go on top now. That was something I couldn’t replicate without a partner.”

“Right.” John cleared his throat and firmly did _not_ imagine what Sherlock _had_ managed to replicate without a partner. “Um, do you want to be on your back or on your—” 

Before he could say the word ‘knees’, a vivid image from the film _Brokeback Mountain_ came to mind and he had to collect his thoughts. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if that would work; Sherlock’s arse would end up too high relative to John’s hips, and the amount of positioning involved might prove embarrassing. Just thinking about it was pretty distracting. 

Besides: first time, going slow, making eye-contact and all that.

“Um, maybe on your back would be best.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as if he thought that was predictably heterosexual. However, he climbed off John and lay down on his back, one arm raised behind his head. The brown tuft of hair in his armpit was dark with sweat. John involuntarily looked at the bullet wound at the top of Sherlock’s stomach. That did affect his prowess somewhat, a reminder of what they’d been through together and what Sherlock had said earlier. _I killed for him_.

“John. You’re ruining the experiment.” Sherlock’s reproachful tone brought John back to the present situation. “Oh there you go. Just what we need.” Sherlock indicated the flannel and Vaseline on the bed beside John; he sounded as if he thought the items had appeared by magic. “Bring those here.”

John did as he was told, because, well, he usually did when Sherlock ordered him to do something. Sherlock took the Vaseline and pulled out a generous amount. Then, with no sign of self-consciousness whatsoever, he spread his legs and slid his hand down between them, his fingers leaving a shiny trail through the wiry brown hairs on his perineum before they dug deeper between his buttocks. Sherlock’s breath hitched and his eyes glazed over a little; his other hand fondled his erect penis lying at an angle in the fold of his groin as he lubricated his anal region.

John watched Sherlock’s large hand twisting and flexing between his thighs; John’s mouth dry and his own erection straining against his thigh. It was extraordinary to think that only an hour ago, they were just platonic friends in his mind, and now they were both naked on a bed, fully aroused and about to have another round of anal sex. 

John realised that he was past all the stupid homophobic conditioning now; a fully naked Sherlock prepping himself so John could fuck him was enough to make any man gay in his opinion.

He crawled over to kiss Sherlock’s mouth and was immediately caught in a strong embrace.

“Oh, John,” said Sherlock softly.

John lay down, his naked chest sliding against Sherlock’s slightly moist skin, their tongues and legs intertwined. Sherlock pulled his slick hand out from between his legs and used it to rub John’s erection. John couldn’t help thrusting, caught between Sherlock’s lubricated fingers and his lower stomach. Sherlock whimpered and kissed John harder, his own erection trapped between John’s thighs. John honestly thought they might get off like this, just from rutting against each other. But Sherlock pulled away from the kiss after a moment, breathless and looking utterly wanton.

“Actually, John, I want you to take me from behind.”

It was Sherlock’s usual voice, the one that had demanded cups of tea and phones in his jacket pocket and innumerable other things when they were living together. But the unexpected neediness of his tone did something to John.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he tried to say, but it came out as something like “Ungh!” and he kissed Sherlock ferociously before sitting up beside him and pushing at his hips to make him change position. Sherlock whispered a low “Oh god” and turned around, his head half buried in one of Janine’s pillows and his bottom raised on one bent knee, his other leg out at an angle to brace himself. All John had to do was kneel down behind him and their hips were perfectly aligned; Sherlock had clearly thought this through. John manoeuvred himself into position, the tip of his erection brushing the hair-lined cleft between Sherlock’s pale buttocks. Gripping Sherlock’s hip with one hand, John positioned himself and thrust forward.

Sherlock groaned and maybe John could have been gentler, but given the way Sherlock was pushing back against him on every thrust, he reckoned his friend probably didn’t mind. The Vaseline was definitely helping.

“Move your hips up so you’re thrusting downwards,” said Sherlock breathlessly after a couple of minutes. John put his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders to get better purchase and did as he was told. “Oh god... John... Keep doing that. Exactly like that. God, yes, right _there_.”

Though he was trying to maintain the angle, John grinned and kissed the freckles at the top of Sherlock’s back. Sherlock was groaning loudly now, and the fact that he was enjoying this so much made it even more amazing. John wondered why they had never done it before.

It occurred to him after a moment that he should also be doing something for Sherlock. He reached around to touch him, but Sherlock immediately pulled his hand away from the damp patch level with his stomach and drew it up to his lips. He seemed well and truly lost in the moment; he sucked on John’s fingers as if they were his prick and that mental image of Sherlock being fucked from both ends finished John off. A couple more thrusts and he was done.

He collapsed onto Sherlock’s warm back and they lay like that for a while, until John’s softened prick slid out and Sherlock shifted beneath him.

“You okay?” asked John, because now he wasn’t so aroused, he was more conscious of all the damage he could have done in his passion. Also, he thought Sherlock might still need to get off. He rolled off onto his back beside Sherlock.

“Yeah,” said Sherlock, still in the same position, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Fine. I think I dribbled on your hand.”

“And I just came in your arse,” chuckled John, giving Sherlock’s buttock an affectionate squeeze. “I think we’re okay.” He stroked Sherlock’s back, running his fingers on the shallow engravings left by past injuries. “You want me to take care of you? I mean, do you need to get off?”

“No, I’m, um... I’m fine. That… It didn’t take me long once you...” Uncharacteristically flustered, Sherlock pushed himself up onto his knees, and wiped his stomach with Janine’s discarded dress. He threw it on the floor and lay on his side, facing John. “You’ll have to tell Janine to wash her duvet cover. And her dress.”

“Tell her yourself, you lazy sod!” laughed John.

Sherlock grinned at him. They lay in silence for a moment, listening to the music and the sound of Janine showering in the bathroom. Sherlock traced the length of John’s nose with his finger, followed by the contour of his lips and chin. There was an unmistakable tenderness in his expression now; he did look like a man in love. John wondered if Sherlock had always looked at him like that and he’d simply never noticed before. It made John’s stomach churn. He hoped Sherlock wasn’t expecting him to leave Mary and Anna.

To hide his reaction, John gave Sherlock a friendly smile and wiped himself off with the flannel. He stood up to put on his trousers and underpants. Sherlock observed him with a more familiar look of amusement, his head propped up on his hand.

“Janine has seen you naked, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean she wants to see me naked again,” said John shortly, fastening his flies.

Smiling and looking very content, Sherlock stretched out luxuriously, so that John, who had intended to lie down beside him again, was obliged to sit on the edge of the bed instead.

“I don’t think we’ll do this again,” said Sherlock in a matter-of-fact tone.

“No?” John hadn’t exactly had time to process what they had done, let alone consider whether they would do it again.

“No. Don’t get me wrong. It was very pleasant. Like an itch I needed to scratch. But now I’ve scratched it, I’ll get over it.”

“An itch. Right.”

“Closure, if you like,” continued Sherlock casually. “I’ve been thinking I should have sex for a while. I’ll be forty in a couple of years’ time and my lack of experience has occasionally been a hindrance in my work. I never bothered before because to be honest, I couldn’t find a partner who deserved to be my first. But more recently, I’ve been thinking about lowering my standards.”

John didn’t know whether to be amused or offended by this statement. “So it was an experiment?”

“Of course.” Sherlock gestured languidly. “A pleasurable one, but not something I think we need to repeat. I don’t expect you to leave your wife and I certainly don’t want you to move in with me again now I’ve finally got the place to myself.”

“Right.” John wondered how much of that was true. “Yeah.”

“Actually, I’ve decided to go out with Janine. You know, properly.”

John cleared his throat. “So you’re gay but you’ve decided to go out with a woman. Properly. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.”

“It makes as much sense as you having gay sex with me,” Sherlock pointed out.

He sat up, leaning back on his arms, his legs crossed and his naked crotch exposed. John could still see the Vaseline glistening on Sherlock’s inner thigh and his mouth went dry, amazed at the thought that he had just had sex with Sherlock, and that some of that shiny residue might even be his own semen... John swallowed and tried to concentrate on what Sherlock was saying. 

“I suppose I should thank you,” said Sherlock seriously. “I know you’re not gay. You’re not attracted to me and it must have been awkward to maintain an erection once Janine was gone.”

“You think I only got hard because of Janine?”

Sherlock wasn’t listening. “I’m very grateful. But as I said, you won’t have to do it again.”

“I could do it again,” protested John, partly because he didn’t want Sherlock to think the gay aspect bothered him, and mostly because it was true. “And I _am_ attracted to you,” he continued. “You. Not Janine. Well, maybe I am a little attracted to Janine,” he added when Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “She’s an attractive young woman. But that wasn’t about Janine. That’s not what got me going. It was watching you with her. And then you, I mean us... Christ, Sherlock, that was amazing. I haven’t been that turned on in years.”

“Poor Mary,” said Sherlock, though he looked as if he was struggling to suppress a smirk.

“No. I don’t mean— I love Mary. And we have great sex together,” said John ruefully, because it was true. It was just normal, comfortable sex; John didn’t think he’d be able to explain the difference in words so he didn’t try. “She’s the woman I love, my wife, the mother of my child. I want to grow old with her and dote over our grandkids. But you. You’re my–”

“Bit on the side?” Sherlock wasn’t fighting the smirk anymore. He looked very pleased with himself.

“You’re…” John struggled to find words that wouldn’t repeat the whole ‘most human human’ thing he usually spouted at times like this. “You’re big headed enough as it is,” he said instead, giving Sherlock a dirty look. “And you already know I love you.”

He expected Sherlock to crow at that; or maybe laugh at him, because that was the kind of dickish thing Sherlock would do. But instead, he had that surprised look again, the one that made him look like a little boy at Christmas. Unable to help himself, John cupped his face and kissed him on the lips. They rubbed noses when they drew apart.

“This doesn’t mean I’m leaving my wife.”

“Hmm. And I am still going out with Janine.”

John frowned. “Don’t string her along, Sherlock. You can’t use people like that.”

“She already knows I’m gay. She’ll understand I’m only going out with her because the sex isn’t entirely unpleasant and she’s the only sexually-available person I know right now whose company I can tolerate for more than one hour. Obviously, the relationship will end if I ever meet a man to my liking, but there’s no reason not to make the most of her goodwill in the meantime.”

Janine chose exactly that moment to walk in, fresh from her shower and wrapped in a bathrobe. “Ah, Sherl, you big romantic,” she said with a laugh. “I plan to dump you the minute I find myself a real man too.”

“See, John. Nothing to worry about.” Sherlock gave Janine an affectionate smile, deep creases lining his eyes.

Janine sat down on the bed and stroked Sherlock’s cheek, smiling when he turned to kiss the palm of her hand. “So, did you two boys have a good time?”

John cleared his throat; it wasn’t really something he wanted to discuss. Sherlock looked at Janine thoughtfully for a moment, still holding her hand in his.

“You planned all this with Mary,” he stated finally. “She texted you to say that John was coming back and you chose to seduce me just as he came in. But why? If you simply wanted to have sex with me, why wait for John to come back? It certainly isn’t because you’re attracted to John. You think he’s too short, old and boring. Don’t bother saying anything, John,” he added when John opened his mouth to protest. “Janine is an attractive young woman; she’s obviously not going to be interested in _you_. So why a threesome?”

“Sherl, you’ve been depressed lately. Coming back after two years in the field, John getting married, Mary nearly killing you, you shooting Magnussen and all that Moriarty business. You’ve had a tough time.” Janine gave him a bright smile. “So… we thought a bit of fun with a nice guy would cheer you up.”

“I see. You thought I was clinically depressed and decided that getting me laid was the best cure.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s a fallacy which I believe in fiction they call the ‘healing cock’.”

“Did it work?” asked Janine.

Sherlock hesitated. “Well... maybe,” he admitted. “That was quite… relaxing. I’m surprised you chose John, though.” He continued more confidently. “Personally, I would have picked Billy. He is less picky about who he sleeps with, and currently unattached.”

“Come on, Sherl, sure I knew you’d want John,” said Janine sweetly. “Even if it wasn’t obvious to me from the way you look at him when you think he isn’t looking, practically everyone I know has warned me about it. Your landlady, that shy girl who has a crush on you, that nice policeman—even your brother told me not to get my hopes up last time he accidentally on purpose turned up when I was staying at your place. It’s obvious you’d want your first time to be with him. Everyone knows how you’re in love with John.”

“Oh good,” said Sherlock dryly. “I’m glad to know there’s a consensus of opinion.”

“Well, everyone knows except John, obviously,” continued Janine. “But then he’s not the sharpest tool in the box.”

“Hey! Sitting right here!”

“Mary and I both adore you, John,” said Sherlock casually. “You’re obviously doing something right.” 

John’s heart skipped a beat, but Sherlock continued to look at Janine as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary.

Janine grinned widely. “Anyway. All this was actually your mam’s idea. I talked to her, you know, the day she called your landline when you were out. We were talking about how down you were and she reckoned if you had sex with John, that might cheer you up. Then when I discussed it with Mary, she said that John would be up for it if we let him work it out for himself. She’s okay with it if you want to do this again, by the way. I knew you got turned on whenever we danced together, so when Mary texted to say John was on his way back, all I had to do was get you to dance with me and take things from there. It worked a treat!”

Sherlock stared at her, speechless, with much the same expression as he’d had when John asked him to be his best man. John was having some trouble wrapping his brain around all this himself. The idea of his wife and Sherlock’s kind-of girlfriend scheming with Sherlock’s mum to get them in bed together was going to take some getting used to.

Janine grinned and gave Sherlock, and then John, a peck on the cheek. “Anyway, you boys get cleaned up and I’ll make us all some food.”

Janine slipped on a shift dress, not bothering with any underwear, and headed off in the direction of the kitchen.

“You see, John. I’ve always said it.” Sherlock shook his head in disbelief. “Women are not to be entirely trusted, not the best of them.”


End file.
